Tired and just a leeeetle bit hung over from yesterdayâ€™s festivities at Casa TJ and Mr. Surly, my secret plan was to take a walk, then a hot shower, then do absolutely nothing other than sit in a big, comfortable chair read, the doze off, then read, then doze off.
I did get to take the walk, but as for the rest — no such luck. Mrs. Parkway also had a secret plan, and that was the beginning of the process of hauling Christmas stuff down from the crawl space upstairs and hauling the almost-seven-foot artificial tree up from the basement.
The tree spends eleven months per year disassembled inside a large, green, heavy-duty plastic bag, which looks a good deal like a body bag. Dragging that unwieldy thing up the cellar stairs reminded me of the Tony Soprano and the boys dragging Big Pussy Bonpensieroâ€™s dead ass up the ladder after Tony and the boys plugged him on the boat.
OK, so we dragged the Big Pussy Bompensiero tree up the stairs and lugged nine gazillion lights downstairs from the crawl space. Now, Iâ€™ll hit the chair and read, doze, read, doze, etc.
Ken, my friend and bodyguard called to say that several of the Usual Suspects are planning an outing today that includes a trip to try to see an early showing of â€œWalk the Line,â€ to be followed by dinner at a local eatery, and then on to a local VFW for some beer. Yep, Iâ€™m going.
Tomorrow, it looks like I wonâ€™t be able to avoid putting the eight hundred Cape May â€“ type purple lights on the two big-ass rhododendron bushes in front of the house.
And, so it begins.